use this chance to be heard
by threshold of my madness
Summary: Singapore and Malaysia through the years and everything that it might mean for them. OC!Singapore/OC!Malaysia, OC!Singapore/Thailand.


Singapore is a lanky youth when Malaysia meets him, all long legs and deep, dark eyes. He's sitting quietly beside England and drawing up equations on his paper, pen scratching constantly, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

The next hour, Malaysia corners him and sticks his hand out. "I'm Malaysia," he says, meaning to be friendly, but Singapore flinches back and Malaysia sees dark bruises under his eyes. Malaysia feels a little bad when Singapore staggers back enough to press himself to the wall, watching him with wide eyes, notebook clutched tightly in his hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you—"

"Go away," Singapore says, swallowing, and Malaysia does.

* * *

><p>The next time he sees Singapore, it's at another meeting, and Singapore has grown enough to fill out a bit of his suit. He still looks boyish and young among the rest of the world-weary faces, but there's more of a flickering confidence in his eyes, a tilt to his chin.<p>

He actually raises his hands and corrects Indonesia's maths during the country's presentation. Indonesia looks startled when Singapore explains it with his quick, clipped words, but England, who is beside him, is stifling his laughter with a hand. Malaysia smiles as well, partly because he hates Indonesia, mostly because he likes to see Singapore so alive.

* * *

><p>The years before the war is a whirl of government affairs and British occupation. Malaysia drags himself back home in the rain one day, getting himself drenched and blinking water out of his eyes. He thinks of going over to Singapore. It's just another stop away.<p>

Instead, he climbs into the nearest train and rides it in the other direction.

* * *

><p>The causeway makes Malaysia feel even more connected to Singapore, beyond their location and their proximity to each other. More connection usually implies bad things; at least, in Malaysia's experience. It means getting attached and fond and eventually, getting lost in the dust with a painful heart.<p>

Despite all of this, Malaysia still oversees the building with some shred of happiness in his eyes.

It's not a bad feeling, to feel connected, even for a little while.

* * *

><p>The war.<p>

Blood and bone and grenades and guns. For a while, Malaysia can lose himself in his bare nature, to kill and kill and kill again. He doesn't have the power though, or the military, and though he puts up a fierce fight he gets occupied anyway. So much for land and the Brits.

The Japanese move down to Singapore, and for once, Malaysia knows the outcome before it even happened.

After Singapore is invaded, Malaysia walks over to his shores and looks over the tiny strip of water separating their two countries. He imagines Singapore, brave and strong and thin in his army uniform, a rifle in his hands, blood on his face. And then he remembers Singapore at the conference, smart and confident and- and _beautiful_, because Malaysia can't deny it any longer, not when it's Singapore's name on his lips when he rests his head against the wall of his bathroom, his breath coming quick and harsh through his lips.

But it goes against everything he has ever believed in himself. And sometimes, he doesn't understand. Not how he could have fallen into lust for Singapore. Not how the war started. Not how he lost.

Malaysia makes a quick prayer, watching the waves toss and turn, both for himself and the young nation across the waters.

* * *

><p>The Brits come back to liberate them. Malaysia's free now.<p>

Singapore takes a little longer, both because he's small and England doesn't quite want to give him up. But England does, eventually, and Singapore appears at meetings representing only himself, his suit still a little too big, especially after how thin he had gotten after the war. But he's sharper and cynical and much less innocent now, a piercing glint in his eyes, a cold and distant smile on his mouth. He's a far cry from the naïve, new guy in South-East Asia.

He still corrects the maths in people's presentations. That's one thing that haven't changed.

Then Malaysia brings up the matter, asks Singapore to join him as a country, _one_ country, and Singapore surprisingly accepts. There's renewed confidence in his step, in the way he cocks his hip and pushes Malaysia against the wall with one skinny hand. His eyes are still as dark when he leans in and kisses Malaysia until they're both out of breath and panting lowly against each other's lips.

Then Singapore's hand curls around the dip in his back, his other hand goes even _lower_, and Malaysia lets his head tilt back and loses himself in the feeling.

* * *

><p>Singapore does not cry. It's a fact, an unspoken rule of the universe, but when Malaysia speaks his cold, cruel words and Singapore walks away, there is definitely tears staining the younger nation's cheeks.<p>

Malaysia feels an aching sense of loss, even when he acknowledges that he had been a bastard to Singapore, betrayed his trust and his people. In the end, it is still Malaysia that turns away.

His country, _himself_, right or wrong.

He walks over to the causeway that day. Singapore is there, sitting on the railing that overlooks the water, his hands folded in his lap. Malaysia comes up silently behind him. He turns, looks at Malaysia with those dark eyes, his lips thinning into a line. Malaysia opens his mouth to speak, but Singapore holds up a hand.

"That's enough." His voice is blank. "Just for politics."

He hops off the railing and walks deliberately towards his country. Malaysia is left on the other side, speechless and left trailing, his eyes pinning down the young man walking home in the dark.

* * *

><p>Singapore shoots up like bamboo, and that's saying an awful lot.<p>

He has become a fast, efficient worker, and Malaysia hears that he monitors the stock market and does economics as a profession beyond being a country. He has become _capable_, most importantly, and the other nations notice him when he would be overlooked then, back when he was a teenager with his dreams in his eyes.

Then Malaysia sees Singapore with Thailand—_Thailand_, a happy, amiable, bespectacled nation—and Singapore is resting his hand on Thailand's shoulder, his head cocked towards the taller man. Malaysia's heart sinks, but it isn't painful at all. He knows that soft, almost-smile Singapore gives, and that's to people he loves. Malaysia had seen that, once upon a time.

He could stay and interfere. Instead, he walks towards the doors, his hands in his pockets, giving the two countries their privacy. There's something dull in his thoughts; desperation or sorrow or hopelessness, he can't tell, but he hopes there's acceptance somewhere in there too.

* * *

><p>Singapore appears at his doorstep one day, dressed impeccably in his suit, a black car hovering in his driveway.<p>

Malaysia answers the door. "Singapore?"

Singapore smiles, almost, not quite. He steps close enough for Malaysia to feel his body heat, but he only reaches out a hand and wraps it around the back of Malaysia's neck. It's an intimate movement in a platonic way. His other arm goes around Malaysia's waist.

Malaysia realises, in a surreal moment, that they're hugging.

He doesn't mind. He rests his chin gently on the top of Singapore's head, letting his hands rest on the smaller nation's hips. He asks, "What happened?"

Singapore breathes out and Malaysia can feel it, even through the layers of fabric. "I can't think whether to thank you or not," he says.

Malaysia says, "What for?"

"I don't know." Singapore smiles, properly this time, and steps backwards. He fills out his suit, looks like an adult with his gelled hair and his wry smile. "But thanks, anyway."

"You're welcome. For something."

Singapore laughs and looks at him with dark eyes; the eyes that Malaysia had loved, still loves, but knows that they belong to someone else's heart now. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Malaysia glances at him. "You want to?"

"Why not?" Singapore shrugs. A flash of a smile, a hopeful gaze.

"Yes," Malaysia says, holding the door open and stepping aside, "why not."

* * *

><p><strong>That's my Singapore and Malaysia. I think they'll be in a hate-love relationship before eventually mellowing out into mutual companionship; a bit like England and France except they got married and divorced.<strong>

**No reason for the Thailand cameo, but I ship him and Singapore together. I'm... not actually sure why. Events mentioned in this fic: mostly the merger and the split between Malaysia and Singapore, and briefly, the causeway that joins the two countries. There are two, but the other one was built later in 1998.**


End file.
